


Melting Snow

by triwizard_tardis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And Catelyn loves and accepts Jon Snow, Catelyn needs a mop, Don't Ask, Dyslexic Jon, Early Nonverbal Bran, I'm sure I couldn't tell you, In this house we love and accept Catelyn Stark, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, and a vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triwizard_tardis/pseuds/triwizard_tardis
Summary: Jon needs a family, Ned needs his wife, and Catelyn needs the truth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm being really lazy with this, but it's really just something I wanted to get out of my head. I like it.
> 
> Game of Thrones is courtesy of George R R Martin and HBO; the title is courtesy of my mom.
> 
> I hope you like it.

His was a loveless marriage. One born in duty and weighted in so much honor that sometimes Ned just couldn't help but be jealous of his sister. Of her rash decision to steal off with the Crown Prince. That she possessed the magic ability to stoke his affections from the dead fire that was his own unhappy marriage. That she married him amidst the bloodshed and horror, and for a glimmering few months, she had a satisfying, love-filled life.

Starting down at her baby boy with a face so much like her own – with a face so much like _his_ own . . . She had paid with her life for that happiness, and now Ned was responsible for the most periled child in the world. In his arms, resisting the tight swaddle just like his mother would have, baby Aegon Targaeryen squirmed and yawned. Aerys was dead. Rhaegar was dead. Lyanna was dead. There were rumors. Even now on his way home from war, Ned heard whispers of two young babes: Viserys and Daenerys – infant siblings to the late father of the boy in his arms.

His own infant – and Ned supposed that was what Aegon was now – began to kick into a fit. Hungry no doubt; they'd been on the road for nearly a day. Ned would have to find milk, or perhaps even a wet nurse, in the next town. Aegon squealed. If Viserys was anything more than a tall tale, than Aegon wasn't in immediate danger. But the more his uncle's name spread the sooner King Robert would turn his gaze to Aegon. If Aerys or any of his children left behind heirs, Robert's hold on the throne would become tenuous at best. As if sensing his uncle's thoughts, Aegon began to wail.

He looked so much like his mother, and his mother looked so much like Ned.

So Ned decided.

None of this was fair. It was not fair that his sister should get to taste his own elusive happiness. It was not fair that she need pay for it with her life. It was not fair to Aegon that he should grow up without a mother. It was not fair to Catelyn and their strained, fledgling marriage that Ned should humiliate her as he knew he was about to. None of the circumstances of Aegon Targaryen's birth were fair.

But the safest course for Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, Prince of the Andels and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm was for him to become no one at all – a bastard: just another Jon Snow.

***

Really this could be a test for his wife: for their marriage as a whole. It was cruel to test Catelyn in such a way: crueler still perhaps to treat it as a test as opposed to the unfair circumstance it actually was. Still Ned couldn't help but weigh the possibilities.

One way or another, Ned was returning with this baby. And regardless of the fact that his bleating babe of a nephew outranked him in practically every conceivable way, Ned was carrying this babe home as his very own bastard. But perhaps he could tell Catelyn.

They were not close, and however Catelyn reacted to the boy would need to be natural, but their marriage was nearly as young as Jon. He hardly knew her, nor she him. He knew enough about her to know that she cared for children with her whole heart . . .

If she could care for Jon that way, Ned would tell her the truth. If she couldn't, then the shift in her behavior when she found out would be too great a risk.

Aegon suckled peacefully at the small, leather milk sack Ned managed to procure almost a month ago. He was getting so big already.

Ned had taken to calling him Jon rather quickly, but Aegon truly was a beautiful name. Furthermore, it was the boy's only gift from his mother besides a face he'd never be rightly allowed to know. What was the harm really of Ned keeping it alive in his mind? He knew if nothing else, he could only ever slip to call him Aegon Stark. He would never utter his nephew's family name again, not even in his mind's eye.

"Aegon Stark," Ned whispered, prying the freshly emptied milk sack from the babe's grasp and replacing it with his fingers. Aegon cooed, and began to gnaw ineffectively against Ned's hand. "Do you like that, Jon? Aegon Stark sounds quite regal if you ask me." Jon regarded him with thoughtless, observant, round eyes, and Ned scoffed a laugh before lifting the infant to his shoulder to burp him.

***

"What is that?" Catelyn's voice was measured: cold. Jon squirmed and whined in his arms.

"Catelyn, I can explain."

"This must be some sick joke," she spat. A stable hand scurried by to collect Ned's horse. Ned moved closer to Catelyn, but he addressed the boy.

"I'm not sure of any preparations Lady Catelyn may have made for my arrival, but please inform whatever meal may be waiting that the Lady and I will be behind. We have an important matter to discuss regarding the tides of this late war."

The boy nodded and led the horse away from the castle gates. Ned stared at Catelyn with heavy eyes. Catelyn stared back with righteous scorn, and it broke Ned to think that his nephew may never live in unfettered, loving warmth. Ned jumped a bit when the gate barreled shut with its imposing thud. Jon began to bawl.

Another servant scurried by, and this time Catelyn caught her.

"Go fetch a wet nurse for the babe." As the servant turned to leave, Catelyn grabbed her sleeve. "Take the babe with you."

The servant collected Aegon from Ned's arms. For the first time since his sister's death, Ned Stark was not holding her child. For the first time since his sister died, Ned Stark was terrified for his nephew's life.

***

"How could you do this to me!?" Catelyn demanded as the door to their bed chambers swung shut. Ned placed himself on the edge of their marriage bed and tried not to feel like a child as Catelyn paced before him. "Does our marriage – your _vow_ – mean nothing to you!?"

Ned shot from his seat. "My vow means everything to me!" But even as he swore it, he could not shake the feeling that he spoke of a different vow.

"Then why!?" she spun on him, waving a finger in his face, "This humiliation! This utter disregard for me – for your wife! I took you to be the careful one, Eddard. I took you to be an honorable man! If I had wanted to wed a marauding rouge, I would have wed Brandon!"

"You wanted to wed Brandon." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He knew it was a low blow in this argument, but it was low of her to mention his late brother in the first place. Besides, despite his thoughtless words he still managed to say them without malice. He didn't hate her for it. He couldn't when he married her out of just as much obligation as she did him.

She looked as though he had struck her, but the self-pity only lit a rage in him.

"Neither of us entered this arrangement with a heart full of love. Only with the promise to try. Now I don't love you yet, but I respect you enough to be honest with you about it. I would appreciate you showing me the same courtesy.

"I don't expect you to bare any love for me yet. But even now, I should endeavor to ask that you try and muster some in the years to come because I'm not going anywhere, you're not going anyway, and my _son_ is not going anywhere. And if you can find it in your heart to love me after this mess, then you can find it in your heart to do the same for Jon."

The lie tasted like bile on his tongue. His throat stung to take credit for the beautiful gift his sister had given the world. His stomach churned to see the tears pricking the corners of Catelyn's eyes.

"I will not call him Stark."

"You will."

"I will not disgrace myself by giving that child your name!"

Pride shone in her crystal blue eyes, and Ned knew he was asking too much, but he steadied a hand on her shoulder and cleared down the rock in his throat.

"I hope you change your mind."

***

"Jon's grown on you," Ned observed as they sat by the hearth that night. Six month had passed since he returned home with his nephew. Six months since she had raged against him in her own quiet, Catelyn way. Six months since he convinced her to keep Jon. Six months since his foolish heart decided to give Catelyn more time. Her indifferent frown flickered into an impatient scowl.

"Hard not to," she admitted icily, "He's but a motherless child. He had no part in your insensitive stupidity. If I should carry any anger here, it should be with you."

"No one would fault you for casting the child aside."

"You are the Lord of this castle, and you have made it quite clear that his presence here is non negotiable."

"Still, you need not be so affectionate with the boy-"

"And how would you have me be, Ned!?" she snapped, "He's an infant; he needs a mother just as your trueborn son! Honestly, what kind of withering hag do you take me for!?"

Ned hesitated a moment, then asked, ". . . Do you love him?"

". . . No. At least- not yet."

"Could you love him?"

Another pause settled in the room. A deep, oppressive pause that hummed with a nervousness that set into Ned's very bones.

". . . Yes." And despite the time she took to think about her answer, she gave it with unquestionable conviction.

Ned would give her six months more. If she had not made up her mind by then, he would take his secret to the grave. But she would love him by then. She would love him by then just as she was learning to love Ned more every day: just as Ned was slipping further into love with her every passing minute.

He kissed her that night, and she kissed him, but they did not make love. Robb, though they both loved him dearly, was born of a mutual obligation: the same obligation that all but saved Jon's life. Their next child, they agreed without words, would be made with affection.

***

Robb waddled across the muddy courtyard with that quick stumbling pace that only a toddler can achieve. Jon tumbled after him in a slower, more uneasy pattern: step, fall; step, step, step fall. Catelyn felt a burst of pride when the boy managed five paces in a row, and willed herself to promote that feeling above the smug satisfaction that settled in her spine to watch Ned's bastard fall so consistently short of _her_ son. 

She was getting better at acknowledging Jon as a Stark. He bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Ned, but he did as well to Robb, and watching the boys play together, explore together, care for one another . . . Jon Snow was not her son, but he was her son's brother, and in spite of herself – and to her credit – she had truly begun to love him as a child in need of love.

Robb toddled to a stop as the edge of a puddle, squatting to inspect it. Jon who was only a few steps behind and had just pulled himself from his most recent tumble, was paying far too much attention to the unsteady falls of his own feet to notice what Robb was doing. Catelyn, so absorbed in her own musings, only succeeded in focusing long enough to watch as Jon sunk one heavy step into a soft patch of mud and slipped face first into Robb's back bowling them both unceremoniously into the puddle.

Robb for his part just lifted his head and shook out his wispy auburn curls like a dog. But the rough water droplets must have gotten in Jon's eye. Or perhaps, sitting in the water was just making him too cold. Whatever the reason, Catelyn had no choice but to spring to action the boy's bottom lip began to tremble.

She raced the few paces to where to boys were tumbling about, scooped up her youngest son – _Ned's_ youngest son – and began carding her fingers through his matted black hair, brushing the fresh tears from his chubby cheeks.

"Hush now," she soothed as the boy began to whimper. She told herself that preventing his tears would ultimately prevent the tears of her own son, which wasn't a lie. But she had to remind herself that it was the right thing to admit that seeing Jon cry broke her heart as much as it did to see Robb cry.

Robb stood and paced over to where Catelyn was bouncing from Jon. He clung to her skirt and started wailing.

"Sawwy! Sawwy!" He cried, in child gibberish as chubby as his cheeks and the fat tears streaming down them. Jon's ebbing tears sprang like a geyser from his own eyes, and Catelyn allowed herself the moment to pretend her son was apologizing to her. She bent down and scooped up Robb so he sat the hip opposite his brother.

"It's alright," she cooed, "everything is going to be all right." She hadn't noticed Ned watching her from the gates of the courtyard until he placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped until he snaked his arm to the small of her back. As she sank into his touch, he gently removed Robb from her arms, and she felt a sharp pang at the idea that she should be left holding _his_ son, while he should get to confiscate hers. But as Ned began to bounce and sooth _their_ son, Jon's tears began again to abate. He laid his head on her shoulder, then buried his face forcefully in the crook of her neck. This child, still very much a babe, had no idea he did not belong to her, and she was beginning to forget that as well.

Ned was by her side again, Robb resting on his shoulder in much the same way Jon had secured himself to her.

"I think it's time these adventurers take a nap," he hummed in her ear, "and I have something I'd like to talk to you about."

Catelyn nodded slowly, trying not to disturb Jon, and followed Ned into the halls of Winterfell.

***

She folded her gloved hands above her skirts and tried not to feel scrutinized by Ned's pacing and the imposing weirwood tree. These were not her gods, but she still felt the power soaking from the blood-sap tears that slipped from the edges of the tree's carved face. She could understand why Ned learned to be honest in its presence. She could understand that whatever it was Ned wished to say carried more weight than his usual solemn expression.

"Catelyn, about Jon–" but he cut him self off and started pacing again.

"I don't want to know who his mother is."

"You deserve to."

"I don't want to."

"You have to!"

"Ned, don't do this to me–"

"It's important–"

"Ned, please!"

"It's Lyanna!"

Catelyn's world came to a grinding halt. The Tears in her eyes froze in her shock. Ned froze with pleading hands outstretched to her in a desperate lunge. Even the weirwood tree send to hold it's breath. Then Ned shifted forward and Catelyn snapped back like a fraying thread.

"Eddard Stark!" she shrieked.

"I'm not his father!"

Catelyn wondered if the tree had fallen silent again of if it had never bothered to move in the first place.

"Is he Robert Baratheon's bastard?" her words fell so softly that she wasn't even sure if she had spoken them.

"No," Ned replied, "but the King cannot know who he is."

Catelyn's voice shook when she found it, knowing the answer to her question before she even knew how to ask it:

"Who is Jon's father?"

She wasn't looking at Ned, but she could feel the insistent pleading in his stare.

"Rhaegar Targaryen."

She did not know how to respond. This boy was in grave danger. Bringing him to Winterfell put them – put _her son_ in _grave danger_. He was still a bastard, but he was the bastard of the once Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. A Prince whose two legitimate heirs were very much dead. Should Robert Baratheon ever discover Jon, Catelyn's whole world would be destroyed.

But Jon was not her shame.

"There's more."

Catelyn silently collapsed to her knees. Ned lowered himself beside her.

"Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled. Before Jon was born, perhaps even before he was conceived, Rhaegar married my sister who then bore him a son. Catelyn." There was a demand in his voice that she had never heard before: not even when he was angry. She met his eyes. "Six months ago, I asked you if you loved my bastard son. You told me you could. I'm asking you now: Can you love my unfortunate nephew like my bastard son."

"Why did you tell me," Catelyn choked. "If you had left me in the dark, I would have carried on like nothing were out of place." Ned shook his head, and his voice croaked when he spoke.

"You deserved to know." His solemn features turned to pleading then, and he clutched at her regal, gloved hands. "Please," he begged. "Help me protect my nephew."

Catelyn was at a loss. But her tongue spoke for her:

"Our nephew.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb makes the wish this time, but it's entirely by accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Jon's eyes – I haven't read the book. I know in the show they're Kit Harrington's dark brown. I figured making them purple here would be a dead giveaway to anyone paying attention, but I still wanted them to be unique. Regarding Catelyn's logic where Jon's eye color is concerned, I figure the medicine of the time probably didn't know quite as much about genetics as we do now.

"Mother! Mother!" A chorus of cries bounced down the corridor, and Catelyn braced herself for what she was about to do. Robb skidded into the doorway first, and Catelyn counted: 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. . .

"Mother!" Jon howled, nearly crashing into his cousin. Catelyn shot him a sharp look, and all the confidence drained from his face. He lowered his head and subtly stepped behind Robb. Despite the whispers throughout Winterfell, the looks she gave Jon always hurt her more than they ever could the boy. Robb, for his part, didn't seem to notice the change in Jon or Catelyn, and barreled on like nothing happened.

"Mother, Jon found a toad near the godswood! Can we keep it?" Catelyn schooled her face into something appropriately stern.

"Jon," Cat ignored the confusion that finally set into her son's brow, and waited for Jon's gaze to find hers. "We've spoken about this."

The boy lowered his sharp silver eyes back to his shoes. Ned did not have silver eyes, but Targaryen eyes were notoriously violet. Perhaps they were Lyanna's eyes, or perhaps they were a queer blend of color contributed by both his parents. Whatever the case, Cat would have to pretend, as always, that they belonged to some mysterious unknown woman who deserves nothing but her scorn.

"M'sorry," Jon mumbled and Cat tried not to jump visibly when she remembered where she was. She sighed to herself.

"You're sorry for what?" She pressed: cringing behind her indifferent mask, as Robb squirmed in her periphery. Jon fidgeted with the hem of his undershirt.

"M'sorry I called you mother."

"And why should you apologize for that?"

Robb seemed as though he was trying not to lunge foreword, but Jon grew completely still. His head turned even lower to the ground.

"Because you're not my mother."

"Mother!" Robb protested, but Catelyn held up a hand. She made this decision years ago; Jon would be one of her children, but never in name or title. If the story was to remain that the boy was Ned's bastard, then the characters in it had better play their proper parts.

"What am I called, Jon?" she spoke evenly now: calmly. Jon began to lift his head. He bit his quivering lip, and looked up at her with sparkling eyes.

"Lady Catelyn, my lady."

It took all of Catelyn's strength not to crumble completely. But with her nephew on the verge of tears, and her son glaring daggers at her head, it was impossible not the crumble at all. She lifted a beckoning arm towards Jon.

"Come here, child."

He came to stand beside her, and she looped an arm around his shoulder pulling him close.

"Robb is your brother; Sansa is your sister; Lord Eddard is your father; but I am not your mother. Do you understand?" Confusion and pain colored his face, but he nodded silently, and Catelyn continued, "You are kind boy growing into a magnificent young man, and I'm sure your mother would be just as proud of you as I am. I love you like you are my own son, but you are not, and never will be. Do you understand?"

He looked her square in the face lip still quivering, eyes still watering, but with a strength he carried more and more often as he grew.

"Yes, Lady Catelyn."

Cat nodded once then dropped her voice: glancing quickly at Robb.

"Now, you may bring the frog into the courtyard," she began.

"It's a toad, Lady Catelyn," Jon interrupted, a smile catching the corner of his lips.

"Toad then," she corrected, a conspiring grin setting into her own. She turned it to Robb who, despite the lightening tone of the conversation, held fast to a frown far older than his face, "But if it so much as _looks_ at the castle, I will throw it back into the godswood myself. Is that clear?"

Robb ground his teeth when he spoke, "Yes, Lady Catelyn."

***

Catelyn's face looked stern. It had looked stern from the moment Ned walked through the gates of Winterfell with a baby in his arms, but it looked more stern now. The corners of her thin line mouth turned down slightly; the furrow in her brow sat deeper: more troubled. Ned hugged her closer beneath the heavy furs.

"What's wrong, my love?"

Catelyn sighed and snuggled into his side.

"Robb's angry with me."

"What makes you say that?"

She sighed again. "I had to scold Jon earlier: remind him that he's not to call me 'Mother'. I think Robb see it as unfair treatment. He's only a boy; he doesn't understand."

"No, I'm sure he doesn't," Ned agreed placing a kiss to the top of her head, "but you're doing what you have to. You can't expect him to see that now, but he will when he's older. They both will."

Catelyn hummed from some far away place, and Ned placed another kiss to her temple. She blinked then turned her face to capture his lips in something slow and searing.

"Sleep soundly, my love," he bade and kissed her again, "This will all blow over before you know it."

***

Jon twisted the toad free from the lead he and Robb had constructed for it yesterday. He was pleasantly surprised to find the horses hadn't eaten it in the night. Robb didn't seem to notice.

"What should we call it?" he asked holding it close to his chest. Robb shook his head distantly.

"I don't care. You pick."

Jon frowned and thought for a moment.

"Why're you angry?" he asked at length. Robb frowned.

"She should talk to you that way. It isn't right."

"Who: your mother?"

"She's your mother too!" Robb demanded. Jon all but openly scowled.

"No, she's not! You're only three months older than me! It takes a woman nine months to have a baby! She couldn't have you and then me three months later!"

"But she acts like your mum!" Robb snapped back, "She's harsh with you, then gentle, then she says you're not allowed to call her 'Mum'! It's ridiculous! If your not allowed to say you're her son then what's the point of keeping you at all?"

Jon's looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Y . . . You don't want me here?" He whimpered, and Robb immediately regretted speaking.

"No, I didn't mean it like that!" Robb tried to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, but Jon flinched away. "I just meant . . . It's . . . It's customary that women get rid of their husbands bastards."

***

One week later, Ned left Winterfell to suppress the Greyjoy rebellion.

Two weeks later, Jon fell ill with the pox.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's feeling very ill and Catelyn makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I went back and actually tried to read through chapter three, and I hated it. So I'm rewrote it. My biggest issue was the pacing. I wanted Catelyn's decision to use his name to feel like some intense scandal, so I let the story run away from me and in the end it just looked sloppy. If you like the old chapter better, hmu and I'll change it back, but otherwise its actually mostly the same. I rewrote the sick scene to carry a lot more weight ~~I hope~~ and to move a lot more naturally. Other than that, I tweeked the recovery scene a bit and removed Ned's homecoming. Don't get sad yet; I'll get to it. I've just resigned myself to the fact that it's going to have to happen next chapter.

The gray sticks bent and twisted in her hands. They cracked in the perpetual Winterfell cold. Catelyn was learning that weirwood splintered terribly once it had fallen from it's tree, and the crimson sap was becoming indistinguishable from the blood staining her fingers. Still, she sat at Jon's bedside, sucked at her wounds and the weirwood's bitter sap, and kept spinning.

Jon was tossing in his bed. He'd been tossing for two days now, and no matter what Catelyn did, she couldn't make it stop. She had been acting for eight years like something of a mother to Jon and yet she couldn't sooth him now. A small, sad part of her wanted Ned. The rest of her wanted him too: her husband, her Winterfell knight to hold her and protect her from her greatest fears. But the small part wanted him for a different reason. Ned was Jon's blood. No matter how she pretended – _playacted_ – Catelyn was not Jon's mother.

Perhaps that was what was wrong. Perhaps that was why the gods had sent this plague to torment this child she loved so dearly. Perhaps all of his suffering was meant only to guide home the point that she was a fraud. Catelyn knew what it meant to be a mother. The day she scolded Jon for bestowing her with the title, Robb had called her by her _given_ name, and she'd wordlessly allowed him to collect his cousin and leave. Life would be so much simpler if he could only call her 'Aunt'!

As if stirred by the noise of Cat's silent prayer, Jon wriggle beneath his furs again and began to moan. He flopped to his side facing her; his restless face pinched, as he curled in on himself. Idly, Catelyn threaded her fingers through his hair and began to stoke; though, she knew it wouldn't work.

"Hush now, child," she murmured more for her own benefit than for his, and when the words floated from her lips they sounded cracked and dry and pleading. He whimpered in pain, and she whimpered in sympathy. The window groaned as if it, too, felt Jon's pain, and Catelyn was struck by the thought that inviting the cold into his sick bed might be working against his recovery. She rose to close it, and Jon's whining grew more pronounced.

"I'm coming, sweet boy. I'm coming," she whispered; though, she was several feet away, and most of the noise in the room was coming from the patient himself. Still, adding to the noise only felt like adding to his suffering. So she spoke quietly, and fastened the window quietly. Her every whispered step felt like a secret, and just as she returned to Jon's bedside an old secret peaked from the corner of her mind.

Jon groaned loudly again so Catelyn sat back down and threaded her fingers back through tangled black curls. He looked in that way like his cousin; athough, Robb's curls burned with her auburn color. And though Ned's hair had never been so tangled as his son's, it made Catelyn curious as to whether or not it was a Stark trait. After all, Jon looked nothing like his father.

"Mother?" Jon's desperate plea cracked from his lips. But Catelyn didn't have the courage to lie to the boy. She didn't deserve to be his mother when all she could do was pretend.

"No, sweet boy, I'm Lady Cat-"

"Mother, it hurts," he groaned. There was a dull shine to the boy's steely eyes, like he wasnt really awake. The fever was making him delirious. "Please!" he cried, "Please, mummy, make it stop hurting!"

Any words Catelyn had lodged themselves in her throat. Then the boy tremored beneath the blankets and howled, and Catelyn tremored too, and the words shook free.

"Oh, my sweet prince," she cooed, the words too loose now to control, "I'm right here, my love. Mummy's going to make it all better. It'll be all better soon."

"You promise?" he gasped, his silver eyes fluttering with restless sleep. The secret that crept though her by the window whispered louder in her ear, and before she could stop it, it came tumbling from her lips.

"Aegon," she breathed, "My strong dragon. You will get better. I swear it by the old gods and the new."

As though she had chanted a spell, Jon slipped into a heavy slumber. Catelyn hung her weirwood prayer wheel above his bed, and as he slept, she bargained. For Aegon Targareyn's life, she would talk to Ned. For his life – and no less – he would only ever again know her as 'Mother'.

***

"Lady Catelyn?" Jon was groggy when he woke, but then again so was Catelyn. With the window closed, she couldn't place the time of day, and she did not remember falling asleep herself. For all she could tell, they had both been asleep long enough for the ashes in the hearth to grow cold. "What are you doing in here?"

Too sleepy to concern herself with propriety, Catelyn shook herself awake and sat up. She frowned at Jon's question and combed her fingers through his hair, quietly overjoyed to realize his brow felt a great deal cooler than it had when she had hung her prayer wheel.

"I came to visit you, sweet boy."

He preened into her touch for a moment, then paused.

"You could get sick."

"I had the pox as a young child; I'm at no risk of catching them again."

"Oh," said Jon, shrugging into a sitting position, "Well, thank you, my lady."

Catelyn tutted, "No more of that. I have been far too hard on you. You are my husband's son, my children's brother; it's high time I acknowledge you as a child of my own."

Jon folded into himself.

"I'm not your son. I'm Lord Eddard's bastard."

Catelyn pet his hair.

"Do you remember speaking while you were feverish?" Jon shook his head. "You called out in your sleep then, I suppose. You cried for your mother." His cheeks colored and his gaze cut away from Catelyn's. "You were only pacified when I came to your side. You are not my son by birth, but as I cannot give you your real mother, perhaps it would not be such a terrible thing if I took the mantle in her stead. Does that sound good?"

Jon's eyes drifted back to meet hers, and she was again relieved to find the sharpness had returned to their silver. They shimmered with unshed tears, and for a moment they reminded Catelyn of a hopeful, misty morning sea.

"Does that mean I can call you 'Mother'?" He sounded positively choked, and Catelyn hugged him under her chin.

"My child, it means you must call me 'Mother'."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat has some 'splainin to avoid. And Theon is introduced ~~for real this time~~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! As I amended in the A/N last chapter, **I rewrote chapter three.** Again, for the people in the back: **I REWROTE CHAPTER THREE!** So if you're reading this and think ing halfway through "Hey! I already read something like this!" That's because I read chapter three after posting it, decided the pacing was _abismal_ , rewrote Jon's sick scene, rewrote his earliest recovery, removed Theon's entrance into the story, and gave him a _proper_ introduction here! So yeah. In summary, I overhauled the last chapter and now we're here.
> 
> Also! Big shout-out to all my commenters! Your love and support are shoving me through all the tough places in writing this! I am squeezing this out of my ass right now and starting a new job for the summer is _not_ helping my focus! You guys have been so great, and you're largely the reason this story has extended past chapter one at all!
> 
> That being said, this might possibly be mabye hopefully not but I don't know how much more of this I have in me the last chapter. I know, I know, I keep saying that and I've conditioned you to interpret that as poking me until I spirit out something new, but as I said I'm starting a new job this summer which may end up being one of the most taxing in my entire life, and while I do have some ideas as to things I might like to see happen in this story from here, I've hit all the major plot points I was hoping to hit, and I don't know where else to take this as a concrete narrative.
> 
> TL;DR Reread the third chapter. I rewrote it b/c it was shit. Shout-out to all my loving fans! You're the reason I do this! This is probably the end, b/c I'm running out of steam, and I have a new job.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Jon had called her 'Mother' had been the day Sansa was born. Robb, who had started speaking first, had been babbling a toddler's version of the word for months, and Cat supposed it had been floating around a lot the day Sansa arrived. So it should have come as no surprise that he chose _that_ day to say _that_ word.

Unfortunately for Catelyn, that was his first word.

Ned had seemed especially hurt when she scolded him for it, and it broke her deeply that the boy had stopped talking altogether for some months after that. But Ned was meant to feel hurt that Catelyn would reject his son. And Catelyn was meant to feel uncomfortable with the boy's presence in the first place. She had only hoped that she'd looked the part.

The first time Jon called her 'Mother' in his recovery had been at supper. The night after his fever broke, Maester Luwin kindly suggested that Jon be invited to sup with his siblings in celebration of his recovery. Catelyn thanked the gods for him, as it would keep her from having to explain why Jon would be dining with them from now on.

Jon had always been allowed to eat with his family for breakfast, because breakfast was a small family affair. Luncheon was only ever a formal meal when guests came to visit. Jon was not invited to those events, but they spanned so far between that he usually dined the meal with his cousins, and when they did occur, they were widely regarded as so dull by the children that Jon was seen to be the lucky one. Dinner, however, was always a full household event. So during dinner, Jon would eat with Maester Luwin at the table nearest the family's.

Catelyn grew to despise the arrangement, but she had grown resigned to it as well, so the act of deviating from it set the castle slightly on edge as it were.

Then Jon called her 'Mother'.

In theory it made her leagues happier than she was ashamed to admit it did in practice. She had wanted him to call her 'Mother'. She had wanted it more than anything in the world since the moment she found out who he truly was to Ned. But she had been fighting with that part of herself that still felt the sting of seeing Ned carrying a bastard into her home: the dull ache of nursing Jon, caring for him that she had tried so desperately to squash in the first year that Jon had spent at Winterfell. It was the same pain she had been prodding with the hot iron of her protectiveness for the past eight years. After so long, the instinct to treat Jon like a bastard rested like hardy conviction on her tongue: healthy and strong, if significantly bitter.

Jon had nearly died. Not only was he allowed to be her son now to prove to everyone at Winterfell that she had a heart, but she had sworn an oath. Jon was to be her son. From the moment his fever broke to the day they put Catelyn in her grave, he was too call her 'Mother'. But how was she meant to explain that to her household? How was she to explain that to her children? 

Ned was still away. How would he handle the change in their relationship? Would he beam at her as Robb did when she neglected to correct Jon at dinner? Would he be proud and excited to see the love and respect she was attempting to foster? Or would he gape at her like Sansa had? 

The poor child. Only six years and already loving her cousin at an arm's length. Catelyn had failed her.

And it was her responsibility to fix that. It was her _responsibility_ to welcome Jon into the family proper! Damn the maids and lower houses whispering behind her back about the lack of a conviction they could never understand! Damn Ned if he came home from war higher on his horse that usual trying to look down on her for the decision to treat _his_ nephew with affection! And above all: Damn the consequences!

~~Of course, that was all a great deal easier to say than to implement.~~

***

Ned did come home. Nearly a month later, Ned strode in through the castle gates and all thoughts of her straying from the script dropped like the cones from a pine tree.

"Theon," Ned commanded the boy at his side, "Say hello to Lady Stark. She will be your governess."

The boy mumbled, flitting his eyes from the ground to either side of himself and back to the ground before bowing awkwardly.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Stark. Thank you for your hospitality."

At least this time, he was publicly a Greyjoy. At least this time, Ned didn't pretend to have a bastard.

***

"You couldn't have sent a bloody raven!?"

Catelyn detested swearing. It was abhorrent, uncreative, unladylike, and commonly rude. But some situations just called for it.

"For all intents, the boy is little more than a hostage. Taking him in as my ward seemed like the merciful thing to do. I really didn't expect you to be angry."

Of course, Ned was talking softly. _Of course_ he was sitting quietly on the edge of the bed. Of course _he_ had his hands clasped peacefully in front of him while Catelyn paced before him like a _godsdamned madwoman!_

"I'm not angry!" She shouted. Then she stopped and breathed deeply. She wasn't angry. She really wasn't. It was just . . .

"Why did you feel the need to hide it from me?"

Her voice was much softer this time, and her gaze found Ned's. Theon had refused to meet her eyes, but tracking the movement of his gave her enough to glimpse their color. His eyes were the same silver color as Jon's. Maybe it was a dormant trait. Maybe silver was a color in Ned's family line. Just because Ned didn't have it didn't mean none of his children would. Theon was around the same age as Robb and Jon. He was lanky where her boys were thick, but that meant nothing at all. His hair was dark like Jon's and straight like Ned's, and wild thoughts started to grip Catelyn's mind.

What if the boys had been twins? What if the Greyjoy boy had gone to stay with that family to dispell the shame Ned was bringing to Catelyn? What if they raised him for eight year out of some tenuous loyalty? Then they got upset about the obligation and demanded Ned take responsibility for both his bastards! The whole battle could have been an elaborate rouse! It was quite brilliantly staged, Catelyn had to admit, but Ned's story was not without it's holes! Lyanna and Rhegar Targaryen were dead! The Maester who annulled Rhegar's marriage and officiated Lyanna's wedding never submitted those records anywhere! Ned said it was all for safe keeping, but the more she thought about it, the more convenient it all seemed to Catelyn–

"Cat."

She hadn't noticed she was pacing again until Ned caught her by the shoulders.

"The eldest Greyjoy boys fought in their father's rebellion. They lost their lives on the battlefield. Theon is the last surviving male heir to the Greyjoy line. Taking him captive was the only way to ensure that Baelon Greyjoy would not try to rebel again." He cradled her face in his hands, stroked her cheeks and turned her gaze to his. "I'm sorry I made you so upset." And his eyes were so unfairly genuine.

Catelyn had grown up alongside Petyr Baelish. He was a smarmy boy who took far too familiar a liking to her. He was cunning, ruthless, and had scored himself a position of enough power to legitimize his nonexistent name. She was used to men like Petyr Baelish. He did a disservice to men. Catelyn's Ned could never tell such a lie – keep such a secret. And in the face of it, neither could she.

"I've decided to allow Jon to address me as Mother." Ned's eyes grew, and Catelyn raced to explain herself. "I know this goes against what we spoke of when you told me who he was, but the boy was sick, Ned. He was dying, and I swore to the gods that if they let him live, I would be a mother to him in all things. I've been playacting, and that's not fair to Jon. He's a motherless boy and even if he were born of some mistress of yours, no one deserves to grow up without a mother – _especially_ when they grow up with one readily available! Please, Ned! You must write Robert; you must make him a Stark–"

Ned kissed her so fiercely she saw stars. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into his every insistent caress.

"Thank you," he whispered hot against her ear, "for taking pity on my sister's poor son." Then, as he kissed down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, he growled so that nosy passersby might hear. "Thank you my lovely wife, for taking pity on my poor bastard."

Robb, level headed and overly responsible for a child of eight, was born of obligation. Sansa, proper and all too vain for a child of six, was born of a budding affection in an insecure romance. Arya, who would embody boldness and brash bravery, was the first Stark child born of pure passion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our adventure draws to a close just in time for the start of the show in this adorable epilogue that reminds everyone involved just what it means to be family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Robb's the oldest. He's two months older than Theon, who's in turn one month older than Jon. The older boys are roughly two to two and a half years older than Sansa, who is six years older than Arya. Arya is a year older than Bran who is two years older than Rickon. That means: at the start of the show (if I ever get there) Robb, Jon and Theon are 15-16; Sansa is 13; Arya is seven (I know; bare with me); Bran is six; and Rickon is four. At the start of this chapter ages are:  
> Robb -14  
> Theon - 13  
> Jon - 13  
> Sansa - 11  
> Arya - 5  
> Bran - 4  
> Rickon - 2

"Arya! Slow down!" Jon shouted, as she dipped under the slats in the stables and began scrambling up the side of the nearest horse. Fortunately for Jon she was quick, but too small to climb the great beast herself. He almost feared the day she succeeded in the task. But for now, he caught up to her and lifted her tiny, kicking form from the animal's massive side.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, flailing against him.

"What's the matter with you? You usually love baths!" 

She kicked him hard on the shin.

"I do not! You can't make me go!"

As Jon crumpled to the ground, he thanked the old gods for Robb's timing. When Arya stumbled away from him, throwing accusions over her shoulder, it was into their brother's ready iron grip.

"Hey!" She shrieked again, punching Robb's shoulder. He flinched a bit when her fists landed too close to his face, but otherwise he seemed unphased. Jon would have thanked him, but Catelyn always said he had a nack for tempting fate.

"I had it handled," Jon claimed, and Robb scoffed as he lifted the fitful Arya off the ground.

"I'm sure you did." Robb rolled his eyes, and though he knew he had no right, Jon thwacked Robb upside the head anyway. "You're lucky I'm holding a gremlin."

"I'm not a gremlin!" Arya insisted, "I just don't want a bath!"

"Yes you do. What you don't want is for Mother to figure out that you put a salamander under Sansa's pillow again."

Jon's eyebrows shot to his hairline, but Arya readily, and loudly persisted.

"I did not! It was Bran!"

"Arya, Bran can't even say his own name," Jon countered. But Arya countered right back.

"Yes he can! He just doesn't want to! He'll talk when he's good and ready! Just like Father says!"

Bran was an unusually quiet child. Jon knew it worried Catelyn. He knew it worried Robb, and it worried him a bit too. Sansa seamed stoic about it, but Jon suspected she leaned toward Catelyn's inclination as well. Ned, on the other hand, believed whole-heartedly that Bran was just waiting for the right time to speak. He said Bran was listening, and when he felt like he had something to say he'd say it. He told stories about his sister, Lyanna, and how when she finally started talking they couldn't get her to shut up. Catelyn always seemed uncomfortable when he talked about Lyanna, but Ned would say to enjoy the peace while it lasted and the subject would be closed. Jon, therefore, was perhaps less worried than he should have been, but Ned was a hard man not to trust.

Robb for his part shrugged off the conversation and began carrying Arya away from the stables and up the stairs for her bath. When they reached the top of the stairs, he whispered loud enough for Jon to hear, "Bran didn't put a salamander in Sansa pillow."

Arya slumped heavily in Robb's arms, but Theon rounded the corner just in time to catch her.

"Alright, little Starkling. Time for your bath." He hoisted her over one shoulder, and with that, the three boys delivered the little lady to the matriach of Winterfell.

***

"You three took your sweet time," Catelyn said as the boys walked Arya into the bathing chambers. Theon grinned, holding the opportunity to be smug across his shoulder. Robb and Jon, having done all the hard work, looked to her with exasperation.

"Mother!" Jon declared indignantly while Robb whined a hopeless: "She's slippery!"

Rickon splashed in the soapy puddle that was his bath and began to giggle. Catelyn smirked, set Bran to cling to the side of the other basin, and beckoned the bounter hunters with soapy hands.

"Have you all finished your lessons with Maester Luwin?"

Each boy nodded differently: Robb with solemn confidence, Theon triumphant as ever, and Jon in jerky motions, refusing to meet Catelyn's eyes.

"Jon?"

"I have!" He defended too quickly, then he shrank back and muttered, "but he says I'm not doing very well."

He wasn't looking when Catelyn addressed them, but he could hear the finality in her voice when she spoke.

"Robb, Theon. You two may go practice your archery and bladework. Jon, go help Sansa with her sets. I'll send your father to check on you when I'm finished with these three."

Robb and Theon nodded curtly and bolted from the room. But as Jon slunk toward the door, Catelyn called him back.

"Don't give up," she told him, and he left the room with a bit more conviction in his step.

***

"Eye-gone Tar-Targri- . . .Tar-gay-ren re-uhnsed his tile–"

"No. Okay, stop. First of all, where do you see a G?"

Jon wanted to glower at Sansa, but it was her lesson he was interrupting.

"It's right–!" he sighed staring fiercely at the page. The letters slowed their jittery dance and the offending G swapped places with an M that absolutely was not there a moment ago! "It was _right there_."

Sansa placed her finger below the first word of the sentence and began.

"Aemon Targaryen renounced his name and title, thus relinquishing control of the seven kingdoms to his younger brother: Aerys Targaryen Second of his Name."

Jon sighed.

"Sansa, you may go," Maester Luwin finally dismissed, "Jon, you have also finished your sets, but I would like you to continue practicing on your own–"

"Achem." 

Jon bolted upright at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"My Lady," Maester Luwin addressed, surprise tinting his voice. Jon whirled around and sure enough, there was Catelyn standing regally in the doorway.

"Good Maester Luwin, might I have a moment alone with Jon?"

"Of course, My Lady." He bowed to her and shuffled out of the room after Sansa.

"Mother," Jon questioned, color painting his cheeks, "what're you doing here? I thought you were sending Father."

She sat at the table beside him.

"I changed my mind. May I help you instead?"

"Of course." Jon bowed his head and waited for instruction.

"Start at the top of the page."

"Eye . . . Eh-Aegone . . . Eh-Ae-mone Tar-Tar-gehren . . . Re-re-uhnsed . . . Renuhnsed . . ." Jon paused, panting. After a long moment, he shut the book with a huff and a heavy thud. "Why do these Targayrens have to have such stupid names?"

"Jon Stark!"

"Exactly! That's so much easier!"

"Jon, we do not use that kind of language. I expect better of you."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't!" The words lept from Jon before he could stop them. But what was worse, was that once they were gone he couldn't seem to stop his mouth at all. "If the Targayrens' names aren't stupid then I must be! I'm three and ten, and I still can't read them! In fact, I still can't hardly read at all! I don't get how it's so easy for everyone else, with the words always mixing together and jumping around on the page, but apparently I'm just defective! You must feel so lucky to know that at least the moron isn't really your son."

Catelyn sat in the simmering anger that filled the room. She steeped in it, claiming it for her own as it boiled into rage. She should've shouted at the boy. She wished she could use his real name: slap him in the face with his significance. But then again, in the moment he looked nothing like a Targaryen. He must have looked like Lyanna, not that he ever resembled anyone else, but stewing in frustration, lips twisted into a scowling pout, he looked just like Ned. And in that moment, Catelyn's anger was replaced with something calm. She placed a hand on his shoulder and chased the fury from the room.

"I thought, many years ago, that you and I had come to an agreement."

Jon's eyes met hers. Their usually sharp silver bent and wavered behind his stubborn tears. She brushed a finger under either cheek.

"Sadly, I cannot take credit for bringing you into this world. But you are my son. And there is nothing more to say about that. Is that clear?"

Jon sniffed and nodded, leaning into Catelyn's touch until he was wrapped up in her arms. Once the room had settled, Catelyn pulled Jon back and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"Your Uncle Brandon had trouble reading like this. Your father told me about games they played and exercises they did as boys to help trick his mind into recognizing the letters. May we try a few?"

***

Ned sat fussing over the notes he'd received throughout the day while Catelyn worked a stitch through Arya's only surviving formal gown. The younger children went down hours ago, and she expected the older children to be putting themselves to sleep when she heard a gentle knock at the study door. She paused her needle work, instinctively listening for thunder or children crying. Ned scratched away at his work obliviously and Catelyn almost believed she had imagined it, but the knock came again this time louder and more insistent. Ned looked up and placed his quill in his ink well.

"Come in." He called, glancing at her for a potential explanation. Catelyn could only offer a frown as the door creaked open slowly. Then Jon slipped through carrying a book.

"Mother, Father, may I interrupt for a few moments?"

His eyes fixed to the ground and he held the tome before him like a shield.

"What can we do for you Jon?" Ned asked. Jon glanced up and began rubbing at his arm then the back of his neck.

"I was wondering if I . . ." he mumbled, shifting from foot to foot.

"Speak up, Jon. We can't hear you when you're mumbling to the ground."

Jon stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and meet Catelyn's eyes. 

"I was hoping I could read for you two before I went to bed."

Catelyn shared a hopeful look with Ned who sat back in his seat at and gestured for Jon to find a seat as well.

"Whenever you're ready," he invited and Jon opened his book.

"An His-Tory of House Tar-gare-ian," he chunked out the words, and though he wasn't looking, Catelyn nodded resolutely. She glanced at Ned, but for once his face have nothing away.

"The reign of house Tar-gare-ian began in the frist – in the _first_ year AC, after Aepon – _Aegon_ the First untied – united the Seven Kingoms and created the Iron Throne." He stopped for a moment and stared down at the page, but ultimately be closed the book, and looked up at Ned and Catelyn flushed. "I'm sorry. Thank you for listening. May I go now?"

"Why are you apologizing?" Ned asked evenly. Catelyn felt like she might cry.

"I messed up a lot, and I didn't read much, and it was embarrassing–"

"Jon–" Catelyn began, but Ned beat her to it.

"Son, you spoke clearly and evenly, and you corrected every mistake. Keep practicing; you'll only get better with time."

"It was incredible, Jon. I'm very proud of you."

Jon nodded his thanks and left the room. Ned turned back to work eventually promising Catelyn that he would finish up and join he in bed soon. Catelyn left the study, undressed and redressed in her sleeping clothes, and fell asleep marveling at just how much her family had grown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! We've reached the end! No more, I says! I am _sure_ I did not follow through on everything I set up in this story, but this chapter came to a close with such a beautiful finality that I really couldn't dispute it. ~~Maybe one day I'll write a sequel~~ , but DO NOT HOLD ME TO THAT!
> 
> Don't ask me why I made Bran early nonverbal or Jon dyslexic. It just sort of happened. I have no control. I consulted after the fact with my cousin who has Dyslexia. She said I didn't quite get the manifestation right, so I'm sincerely sorry to any people with dyslexia I may be misrepresenting, but she said I captured the essence of the struggle well enough and it flows so we'll into the story now that I'm not sure I could change it. I hope you all have enjoyed this journey! It was certainly more than I could have ever expected or hoped for.


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